Werewolf Academy Book 7

by Cheree Alsop

  “Alex, give me the gun.” Trent’s voice was calm. He crouched slowly so that he was eye-level with Alex. If he felt any anxiety at the gun that followed him down, he didn’t show it. “Come on, man. We need to get out of here. Let’s go get some fresh air. Hand me your gun, okay?”

  Trent was a pack mate. He had told Alex he would follow him no matter what he did. The voice in the back of Alex’s mind noted that aiming a gun at his best friend’s face might change that. His hand shook. He lowered his arm.

  “That’s it,” Trent said.

  Alex’s training took over. Instead of handing his friend the gun, he slid it back into his holster and attempted to stand. Trent grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet.

  “Third floor’s clear,” Jaze said. “Alex, get your team outside. We’ll sweep for leads and meet you there.”

  Jericho led the way down the stairs. Alex barely saw the stars shining down from outside. His back stung slightly beneath the blanket of moonlight.

  “Alex, you’re bleeding,” Trent said.

  Alex nodded. “Bear,” he said numbly.

  Trent gave him a strange look, but didn’t ask questions as he led Alex to the helicopter.

  Alex vaguely remembered giving his gun back to Caden when they returned to the Wolf Den. Siale held him as if she knew just how much he needed to know she was alright. He kept looking down at her to reassure himself that she hadn’t been left strapped to a table in the room of corpses. Siale and Trent walked with him back to his quarters and he fell into a dazed sleep on the couch with Siale under his arm.

  ***

  When Alex awoke, the faintest gray of dawn showed through the window. He wanted to go back to sleep, but the things that had happened flooded his mind so stark and real that rest evaded him. He slipped his arm from beneath Siale’s head at the same time that scents touched his nose. He looked down at Trent’s familiar form on the floor.

  His friend was awake. When Trent met Alex’s eyes, he tipped his head to the left. Alex followed his gaze. His heart slowed at the sight of Jordan, Terith, Von, Cassie, and Tennison sleeping on the floor wrapped in their own blankets.

  Baffled, Alex whispered, “What’s going on?”

  Trent put a finger to his lips and motioned toward the hallway. Alex nodded. Both werewolves made their silent way outside Alex’s lone wolf quarters.

  “Why is everyone in there?” Alex asked quietly as soon as Trent shut the door.

  “They’ve chosen you, Alex,” his friend replied.

  Alex shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “It does in real life,” Trent replied. At Alex’s questioning look, the werewolf made a sweep with his hand. “Out there, in the real world, wolves choose their Alpha just as much as their Alpha chooses them. Your pack has chosen you.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Alex replied. “I’m not an Alpha.”

  “You know you are,” Trent shot back.

  Alex shook his head. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, unable to meet Trent’s gaze. “You know very well I’m not fit to lead anyone, let alone my own pack.”

  Trent was quiet for a moment before he asked, “You mean what happened on the mission?”

  Alex nodded. He glanced at his friend. “I could have shot you.”

  “But I’m still here,” Trent replied with forced humor. His smile fell when Alex refused to smile back. “Okay, so you flipped out. It happens.”

  “Not like that,” Alex argued. “I was supposed to lead my team, and what did I do? I freaked out at the sight of a few bodies and almost shot my best friend. What kind of a leader is that?”

  Trent sat on the carpeted floor and motioned for Alex to join him. When Alex kept standing, Trent patted the carpet. “Come on. You might be tough, but I’m tired. Humor me.”

  Alex gave in and sat. The pressure of his back against the wall hurt far less than he thought it should have. Despite the whirlwind of his mind, his body was healing the way it was supposed to.

  “Okay, what?” he asked into the silence.

  “Alex, you have PTSD.”

  “What?” Alex asked to confirm Trent’s proclamation.

  Trent gave him a steady look. “PTSD. It’s short for Post-Traumatic—”

  “I know what it is,” Alex replied. “We’ve talked about this before. But I think you’re wrong.”

  “Really?” Trent asked. “Did the sight of dead bodies take you back to the night you rescued Siale? It sure seemed like you were looking at something other than me when you were pointing the gun at my head.” He paused, then said, “Please tell me I’m right so I don’t think my best friend really was trying to kill me.”

  The hint of worry in his voice made Alex give in. “Fine. You’re right.” He shook his head without looking at Trent. “I couldn’t control it. The memories took over and I felt like I was trapped. I was on the verge of a meltdown.”

  “I think you had a meltdown,” Trent replied, his voice gentle. “You couldn’t control what was happening. Shutting down and running on instinct alone is a meltdown. You were in survival mode.”

  “Yeah, but survival mode shouldn’t account for aiming a gun at you.”

  Trent gave a small shrug. “So. It’s different for everyone, I hear.”

  Alex looked at him. “You hear? From who?”

  “From whom,” Trent corrected. At Alex’s exasperated look, he explained with a hint of trepidation, “From Meredith.”

  “You told my mom?” Alex asked with dismay.

  Trent stiffened slightly at the sound of frustration in Alex’s voice. “Yes, I did. I know you think I have all the answers, but sometimes I don’t. It helps to have someone else to talk to.” He paused, then said, “It’s the same thing I keep encouraging you to do.”

  Alex wasn’t thrilled with the fact that his mom knew what was going on. She had been through enough without having to worry about him. The voice in the back of his mind answered that mothers were supposed to worry. It came with the title.

  Alex let out a slow breath. He could feel Trent’s worried gaze on him. His best friend was obviously afraid that he had crossed an unspoken line. By his expression, the small werewolf wondered if he had damaged their friendship. Alex felt bad for the fact that apparently everyone around him was worried and it was his fault.

  Alex forced a small smile. “I think you have all the answers?”

  The relieved answering smile that crossed Trent’s face eased Alex’s stress.

  “Yes, you do, and no, I don’t. Sorry to take that away from you,” Trent replied.

  A chuckle escaped Alex. “I guess I’ll recover. It’ll be hard, though.”

  Trent nodded with mock solemnity. “Just understand that once in a while, once in a very rare while, I might have to go to someone else for an answer. In this case, it was your mother. She said she’s noticed the same symptoms, but thought you would come talk to her if it got too bad.” He watched Alex closely. “She asked if I would send you to her.”

  As tempted as Alex was to let himself vent everything to his mother, he shook his head. “I can’t.” At Trent’s fallen look, he rushed on to explain, “Not yet. There’s so much counting on me. I have control of it, if only a little bit. If I open that box, I may not be able to close it again.”

  “But Alex…” Trent began.

  Alex shook his head, cutting his friend off. “I need you to trust me, Trent. We’re on Drogan’s trail. I can’t let go now. What if they need the Demon and I’m too far into this breakdown to help out. I won’t let the other werewolves suffer because of me.”

  Trent’s gaze was sharp. He ran a hand over his buzzed hair before he finally said, “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” Alex told him. He hesitated, then said, “As long as I have someone who can help keep me in check; someone who knows what’s going on.”

  A smile crossed the smaller werewolf’s face when he realized what Alex was asking of him. “I’m there for you; I promise.
”

  Alex grinned at Trent’s sincerity. “It’s getting a bit mushy out here. Jordan’s going to start getting jealous.”

  Trent laughed. “Don’t worry. She’s the one who thought we should stay in your quarters tonight. She says sometimes wolves need to look after their Alpha.”

  Alex snorted. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one.”

  Trent gave him a serious look. “You should listen to her. She knows what she’s talking about. She’s even smarter than I am.”

  The awe in the small werewolf’s voice made Alex happy. “I’m glad to see you’re engaged to someone who will challenge you.”

  “Trust me,” Trent replied. “I feel like I’ll be catching up to her my whole life, and it’ll be time well spent.”

  Alex grinned. “Me, too. Siale keeps saying she’s happy, but being engaged to her makes me the luckiest werewolf in the world.”

  “Second luckiest,” Trent shot back.

  “I’m still going with luckiest,” Alex said.

  “Second.”

  “You’re right; you’re second. I’m the luckiest,” Alex told him.

  Trent shook his head with a sigh and a pleased expression. “We’re both pretty darn lucky.”

  “It’s true,” Alex gave in. “So you just have to help me get through this so I can be the husband Siale needs.”

  “Will do,” Trent said. “Just make sure I don’t get shot.”

  “Deal,” Alex agreed. “We both have our work cut out for us.”

  Trent laughed. “You’re right about that. If I’m in charge of your sanity, we might be in trouble.”

  Alex stood and held out a hand to Trent. His best friend rose to his feet.

  “A bear?” Trent said.

  Alex shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

  Trent grinned and opened the door to Alex’s lone wolf quarters that was quickly becoming much more crowded than he had anticipated.

  Chapter Nine

  “Let’s go.”

  Alex stared at Mr. O’Hare. “Go where?”

  “I need to run to my office,” the man explained with obvious annoyance as though he shouldn’t have to explain himself to his assistant.

  “And you need me to go with you?” Alex replied.

  Mr. O’Hare gave him a straight look. “You are my assistant, are you not? So, hurry up. The helicopter’s landing at the airport in ten.”

  “Minutes?” Alex didn’t know what was going on. After a too-short night’s sleep, his brain was having a hard time following what the human wanted from him.

  “Yes,” Mr. O’Hare replied with a grimace. “I thought werewolves were smart.”

  “We are,” Alex snapped back. At the human’s raised eyebrows, he took a calming breath. “Let me go tell Jaze where we’re going.”

  “Seriously?” Mr. O’Hare replied. “Do you run to your dean for everything? Is there some sort of Alpha protocol for kissing Jaze Carso’s shoes whenever he calls?” He grabbed his briefcase and waved for Alex to go out the door. “I’ve already cleared it with him. There’s no time for you to double-check me on everything I tell you. You’re my assistant, so assist me by carrying this.”

  He shoved the briefcase at Alex and stormed through the door, leaving Alex with no choice but to follow. The students and professors had already gone to their first classes. Alex glanced down the halls they passed in the hopes that he would see Jaze. He wasn’t worried about leaving the school; he had done that enough times not to have any concerns about going outside the walls. But something about the man’s request bothered him.

  Alex had no doubt that he could handle himself. Though the situation was beyond what he had thought was within the scope of his duties as an assistant, perhaps Jaze wanted him to tag along with Mr. O’Hare to make sure the man didn’t report anything about the Academy that would place the school in a bad light.

  A blue car picked them up at the Academy gates.

  “Couldn’t spring for the ominous black one?” Alex asked.

  “What?” Mr. O’Hare replied as he climbed inside.

  Alex shook his head and followed. He didn’t ask questions at the tiny airport in Haroldsburg and climbed silently into the helicopter behind Mr. O’Hare and the short, bearded man who had been waiting for them.

  “First time in a helicopter?” the man asked over the headset.

  When Alex realized the man was talking to him, he shook his head. “I’ve been in one before.”

  When he didn’t expound, the man smiled. “It’s a bit intimidating. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  Alex nodded. He glanced at Mr. O’Hare, but the man was busy studying the documents from his briefcase.

  They landed a few hours later in the helipad of a short, unmarked building surrounded by many others.

  “Assistants are supposed to be silent. Observe everything, but keep to yourself,” Mr. O’Hare instructed on their way inside. He paused, then said, “Especially you.”

  Alex chose not to be ruffled by Mr. O’Hare’s comment. He nodded at the uniformed man who opened the door and studied the security guard who scanned the card Mr. O’Hare pulled from his pocket.

  “Is he with you?” the guard asked, eyeing Alex with uncertainty. Alex had the distinct feeling the guard knew exactly who he was.

  Mr. O’Hare sighed. “Unfortunately, but at least we’ll be brief.”

  The guard waved a hand.

  Mr. O’Hare nodded and accepted the card back. As Alex made his way up the hall, he felt the guard’s eyes on his back. He was grateful when they turned the corner and left the guard’s line of sight.

  “Stand here.”

  Alex glanced at the door. The nameplate beside it said ‘Jamison P. O’Hare- National Education Analyst.’

  “You want me to stand out here?”

  “Do you really have to repeat everything I say?” Mr. O’Hare replied dryly.

  Alex crossed his arms and leaned against the wall near the door without a word.

  Mr. O’Hare gave a satisfied nod and went inside.

  Alex couldn’t believe that he had followed Mr. O’Hare in an uncomfortable helicopter for hours only to be told to stand outside the door like some creature unworthy of stepping past the threshold. He made a mental note to tell Trent that he was much better at landing a helicopter than the pilot who had flown them.

  Guilt touched Alex’s thoughts. He knew he should have told Trent where he was going. Whether or not Jaze actually knew where they were, and Alex highly doubted Mr. O’Hare had actually run Alex’s absence by him, Trent was the one who was usually concerned whenever Alex disappeared off the map. Although the small werewolf was sneaky with his tracking chips, Alex doubted even Trent had been given the opportunity to know they were leaving.

  The building was quiet, even to what Alex felt were standard office terms. He told himself he was just being paranoid. Perhaps everyone was busy working in offices whose doors were soundproof enough to keep in the keyboard clicks and paper shuffling he assumed should inhabit the numerous rooms.

  After an hour of leaning against the wall, footsteps sounded down the hallway. Alex listened to them through sheer boredom, sure whoever was walking in a group had somewhere more important to go than Mr. O’Hare’s office.

  As if to prove him wrong, the footsteps turned down their hallway. The five men in suits didn’t look at all surprised to find Alex there. In fact, they walked straight to him. He pushed casually away from the wall and stood.

  “Is Jamison O’Hare in?” a bald, burly man asked.

  “Yes,” Alex replied.

  The man glanced at the door and then back at Alex.

  “Would you like to talk to him?” Alex asked.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” the bald man replied. He glanced at his companions.

  Alex could smell the man’s anxiety; he kept an outward appearance of calm, but his muscles tensed.

  “We’re here to talk to you,” a tall man with a goatee said.

  Alex wondered if he
and Mr. O’Hare went to the same barber. He had the distinct feeling the men weren’t exactly friends by the hostility he felt from them. Keeping the sarcastic thought to himself, Alex queried, “What would you like to talk about?”

  “This,” the man said.

  His gaze shifted and his shoulders tensed, foretelling of the punch before he threw it.

  Alex ducked under the man’s arm and spun. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  None of the men replied. Instead, they attacked in force.

  Alex realized the answer to his question in that moment. Mr. O’Hare had mentioned that there were others who weren’t thrilled about his involvement with the werewolves. Alex ducked under another fist, threw one man into another, dodged a kick, and blocked a hammer fist with crossed forearms.

  Alex wasn’t there for Mr. O’Hare to throw around his authority and tell him what to do. Alex had been positioned at the door as a bodyguard.

  He spun, using an attacker’s momentum to propel the man into one of his companions. Alex blocked another kick with his forearms and was about to follow-up with a punch to the man’s groin when he realized the truth.

  None of the men were seasoned fighters. Their skills were methodical and rusty at best, yet they were persistent as if they were under someone else’s orders instead of their own. If they hated werewolves so much and would go so far as to attack one within their own building, desperation fueled them. Perhaps Mr. O’Hare truly hadn’t found enough to shut down the Academy. If five men could report that Alex had attacked and hurt them as innocent bystanders in their own building, it might be the step they would need to shut down the school entirely.

  Alex spun inward, falling into Chet’s defensive training. He couldn’t hurt any of the men. That much was obvious. They threw themselves at him over and over without appearing to fear what would happen as a result. Alex blocked, ducked, jumped back, and spun, only to block again. The hallway felt much smaller with the five men throwing themselves at him.

  Luckily, as long as Alex remembered not to throw the punches and kicks that came with the muscle memory of hundreds upon hundreds of hours of training with Chet and the other professors and students, Alex could block attacks for hours. Even when the men intensified their assault, he was able to keep them at bay with hand flips and blocks that sent them harmlessly down the hallway; yet his attackers refused to give up.